It's late, at least by his body-clock. There's nothing else he can do, so he may as well take a nap.

The cot feels unreasonably exposed; he spends a few minutes wrangling the thin mattress onto the floor, at which point the framework obligingly vanishes to give him a convenient place against the wall to lay it down. He takes off his shoes and socks and his button-down shirt, and lies down in his jeans and undershirt, and stares at the wall.

A week. Maybe in a week he can convince them that he isn't a danger to anyone and they'll let him go.